Sunset on Civilization
by Mad Hatter - J
Summary: After their failure to locate Merle, Rick and his small band of four stumble across a lone female survivor who agrees to join them. Like Daryl, this new addition speaks very little of her past. But she's keeping one heck of a secret.
1. Chapter 1: No Cause for Alarm

**Chapter 1: No Cause for Alarm**

The concept behind the weapons system would have seemed ingenious were it not for the fact that it was moments away from annihilating every member of the small group of survivors. They were on high alert since their truck had been stolen and they now had to travel on foot through the zombie-infested darkness; but the moment the flood lights had exploded to life they couldn't help but feel a brief sense of relief. It was as if a switch flicked on in their brains, one that automatically associated the man-made light with safety. Then the sirens had begun to scream and they realised that what they had first mistaken for salvation was, in fact, the path to a very bloody end.

"What the fuck is that?" Daryl – a Southerner skilled with a crossbow but not so much with anger management – called to the others.

They each glanced around like rabbits that had caught the scent of an approaching predator. The sound was bound to attract every flesh-eater in the area and, since they had just come from the nearby city, they knew that there were plenty within earshot. Alone, the flesh-eaters weren't much to worry about – they weren't very fast and they certainly weren't bright – but somehow, in large groups, they always managed to gain the upper hand. Maybe it was the thought-stalling anxiety they instilled in even the bravest survivors, or maybe it was their relatively silent ambushing abilities – either way, once they had you cornered, you were doomed to a very slow and incredibly painful death.

Rick Grimes, once a sheriff's deputy and still a man who felt most comfortable in the role of leader, began to do what he did best: assess the situation. Chances were that they had just set off an alarm system by traipsing across the front yard of some long-dead civilian. That or someone had actually gone to the effort of setting up an elaborate advanced warning; but if someone had done that, they _had_ to know that any amount of sound would attract even more of the walkers. It just didn't make sense.

"Come on!" shouted Glenn, a young Korean man who could always be counted on to lighten the mood in any given situation. Although he had discovered he was a lot braver than he thought (and he'd found himself in plenty of situations that would nurture that particular realisation), no one in their right mind would wait around to find the source of the light and sound. You know what they say: curiosity killed the cat – and in this case it would tear the cat to shreds and devour every last feline morsel.

"No, wait," said Rick, his eyes darting around the exterior of the weatherboard, suburban house. From the outside he could make out the boarded up windows, but as far as he could tell that was the only sign that anyone had ever attempted to make the house livable post-apocalypse. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than a simple tripped alarm system.

He turned slowly back to the others only to find that in a matter of seconds walkers had already begun to close in around them. A noise like the feedback from a microphone sounded across the yard, momentarily overpowering that of the alarms, before dissolving into an instructive female voice.

"You've got less than a minute to get off my lawn before the bullets start flying, boys. This isn't a threat, I'm simply stating facts."

Whoever it was didn't sound threatening, but instead nervous, as though the presence of the four men was more concerning than the horde of living dead currently headed her way.

"Let's go!" Daryl shouted, heading in the same direction as Glenn, where there was still a small window for escape. He hardly seemed concerned by the fact that they were being ordered away by another survivor. In these times, coming across another living (that's 'living' in the original sense – walkers did not so much 'live' as drag their corpses from place to place, eating whatever living tissue they managed to find along the way) person was rare. Coming across another survivor that was friendly enough to offer shelter was even rarer, and it seemed as though this woman was unwilling to prove the exception.

However, it was then that Rick realised that heading back to base camp was not an option; not when the walkers had already caught their scent. If they went back now, they would take every single one of those walkers with them.

Just as they were beginning to wonder how serious the voice had been about the flying bullets, the front door was thrown open, revealing a young woman brandishing a machine gun.

"Inside. Quick!" she shouted to them above the din. She fired into the growing crowd of walkers while the group of four men made their way inside the house, letting off one final spray of bullets before pulling the door closed. She slid a couple of deadbolts across and latched a number of locks before running up the stairs, inserting a fresh clip into her gun as she did so. All but Rick followed her, their instincts telling them to keep close, thus leaving the ex-deputy to peek through the boarded-up windows alone. As he stared in awe at the swarm of living dead that now filled the front yard, he was startled to the ground by the eruption of machine gun fire. These guns sounded a lot bigger than the one their host had been using, and since the sound was coming from the front porch, he guessed that they were probably automated, too.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran up the staircase, taking it three steps at a time, and reached what appeared to have once been a study. The others from his group were gathered inside with their gazes fixed firmly at the window and their fingers pressed into their ears. Rick soon discovered why. A rifle blast that shook the walls left a high-pitched ringing in his unprotected ears, throwing him into momentary disorientation. It was a sensation he was not unfamiliar with, having let off a shot inside the confines of an army tank. Having learnt his lesson, he followed the lead of the others and thrust his index fingers into his ears.

Over by the window, wearing a pair of black earmuffs, was the woman who'd let them in, now wielding a massive sniper rifle. It was almost five feet long and sat with the muzzle pointed out into the front yard. With careful aim, she picked off the stragglers that the turrets had missed, sending them flying with the .50 caliber bullets that packed enough punch tear heads clean off their bodies. When the final zombie lay sprawled on the tangled, gore-stained lawn, the young woman took her earmuffs off and slowly released her grip on the gun. She turned to look at the others, her expression grim and understandably so.

"You rig all that yourself?" T-Dog, the fourth member of Rick's group (and quite possibly the least hysterical of the four), asked her when they were all in the kitchen, each of the men trying their best to keep from gulping down the bottles of water she had offered them.

She eyed him wearily as she took a mouthful of her own drink, and then nodded as if it was the most ordinary thing someone could do: build their own motion-activated floodlight, alarm and turret system from scratch.

"Pretty impressive," Rick commented, noting her not-so-friendly behavior. She was by far the most miserable looking survivor he had come across yet, but he respected her ability to keep such a cool head under the circumstances they had just found themselves in. Even now she appeared unfazed by what had happened. Based on his experience with victims of crime during his time on the force, he guessed that she had probably been exposed to some pretty terrible things well before the apocalypse had rolled into town.

"It was nothing, really," was her modest reply, as she kept her gaze low, "Just a lot of spare time and a lot of tinkering. Hell, if I'd had more time I might've built something to get me the heck off this planet."

He smiled at her gently and managed to hold her gaze for a brief moment. Though filled with the same dimness of a mistreated dog, her eyes were a warm shade of hazel, and if you did manage to get a good look at them you'd find that they brightened her disheveled appearance dramatically. She looked as though she hadn't slept in days and her skin had taken on an almost translucent paleness; her hair, which was pulled back into a loose bun, was a darkish shade of brown that accentuated this particular feature. Rick wondered how long she had been alone for.

"But bringing all the geeks down on yourself like that? I mean, what the hell? That's crazy," Glenn commented, though he too was clearly impressed by what he had witnessed.

"It started off just with the floodlights," she explained, her voice quiet but not quite timid, "Something to warn me when there were things lurking around at night. But then I realised it would attract more, kinda like moths. I'd get my gun and make sure they all stayed down for good, but more would always come later on. I was going back and forth every ten minutes or so, it felt like, to get rid of them. Then I thought, hell, I might as well bring every one of them in the area here and get 'em all in one swoop. So I introduced the sirens. They worked the way I wanted them to, but the first time they went off – it was the middle of the night – I saw how many were out there and… it took me nearly the entire night to get all of them."

She had wanted to say that it had taken even more effort to keep from shooting herself in a situation that seemed so hopeless, but over time she had developed a determined resilience that kept her from acting on that impulse. She had gone through way too much to get to this point; she wasn't quite ready to exit the stage just yet.

"So then you brought in the turrets," Glenn reasoned, nodding with approval, "Cool."

"Where were you all headed?" she asked them after giving another small, modest smile. She had accepted the probability that she would remain alone in the changed world, and decided it was probably for the best anyway since it meant less people to worry about. It was hard having your own back in difficult situations, but, as selfish as it sounded, it was far easier to look out for just yourself than it was to stick your neck out for an entire group. She was better prepared for solitude, anyway.

"We've got a camp set up not far from here," Rick explained, "There are more of us. Families mostly, or at least whatever family we managed to hold on to…"

A faraway look shifted across the girl's face before she appeared to remember that she wasn't the only one in the house anymore.

"You here alone?" he asked.

She nodded.  
>"Yeah. Have been for a while. Uh, I'm Hannah, by the way."<p>

"Rick. This is Glenn, T-Dog and Daryl," he introduced, motioning to each person respectively. They each gave her a nod, Daryl noticing her eyeing his crossbow with interest. Already impressed by her handling of the massive M82 upstairs, he was willing to bet her weapons knowledge extended to the bow and beyond – you just wouldn't have thought it from looking at her. She looked as if the slightest sound would send her into a fetal position; but if there was one thing that Daryl had learnt from all this, it was that looks could be very deceiving; sometimes the weak-looking ones did have the stronger survival instinct.

"How long have you been here for?" Rick asked her, his eyes shifting slowly around the room. He spotted a photo on the wall in which a much more polished (though not much happier) Hannah stood beside two people who he guessed to be her parents. She looked a lot like her mother, a common sort of pretty that would never quite reach beautiful, but both with something lurking behind their eyes, something that drew you in like a promising glint from the bottom of a murky pond.

"I've lived here a couple of years, by myself. I actually get more visitors these days than I ever did in my old life."

Glenn seemed to find something very funny about this, giving an odd bark of laughter before glancing around at the others to see if anyone else found it amusing. They didn't appear to, though Rick still retained his small, gentle smile.

"Well, I hope you didn't treat your other visitors the same way as you do these ones," he joked. A dark-humor crossed Hannah's eyes, but she gave no reply, her eyes flicking briefly to her family portrait on the wall.

"Why were you guys out there? I would've thought a group like you would know better than to venture into the city. Just the other day I heard a bunch of idiots driving out of there. Some moron had his alarm blasting through the whole bloody neighborhood. Brought a bunch of those things right to my front porch."

"Ah, that would've been me," Glenn admitted sheepishly, "Sorry."

"We were lookin' for my brother, Merle. This guy," Daryl began, jabbing his finger in T-Dog's direction, "left him handcuffed on a motherfuckin' rooftop to rot."

Hannah cast a semi-judgmental gaze at T-Dog, and he bowed his head with what might have been shame or irritation. Daryl took every opportunity he got to bring this little fact up, and since Merle was the only living relation he had left in world, he felt as though he had every right to. Even Rick knew that you don't leave someone to a fate like that, even if they were as horrible a human being as Merle Dixon.

"Have you seen him?" asked Daryl with hope that was halfway forced. All they had found on the rooftop was a bloody hacksaw and a severed hand to match it; and, although he looked up to his brother for being such a tough, 'do-whatever-has-to-be-done' kind of bastard, deep down there was a part of Daryl that expected to never see him again.

"Sorry, no, I haven't. A couple of people have passed through here, though."

"You let them stay?" Glenn asked without bothering to mask his surprise. She just seemed the cautious type, even if she had let their small group into her home. In truth, there were moments (ones which most often came after taking down a horde of walkers) where she would sit with her back against the wall and a heavy sense of despair perched on her shoulders and feel a desperate need for human interaction. The irony of it was that she had never been much of a people person to begin with – she preferred a day spent indoors, curled up with a book and only herself for company, than time spent with friends or family. It was during those vulnerable moments when the idea of letting survivors in off the street seemed far more desirable than another moment spent alone in a world that had so quickly turned to shit.

"One guy stayed a couple of days," she said, giving Rick the vague impression that the guy hadn't exactly stayed for the abundant water supply. "The other guy had been bitten, but, uh, failed to clue me in on that one little detail. I had to find out the hard way. Have you ever seen someone turn? No one should be allowed to go though that, not if you can help it."

This put a significant dampener on the mood, sending each of them into silent reflection of some of the worst things they had witnessed so far. They had all bore witness to the kinds of things you could only pray to never see in your lifetime; the kinds of things no person should ever have to see, let alone be able to imagine. Yet for each horrible event they had gained a little something to help them get through whatever else was to come; with every little victory, no matter how much luck was involved, they gained a little extra spark to add to their dwindling flames of hope, hope that it might actually be possible for them to make it out of this live.

Daryl's gaze fell upon the dining table in the adjoining room, which had been pushed into the furthermost corner. Even in the dimly-lit house, he was able to make out an array of weapons and ammunition laid out from smallest to largest and, he was pretty sure, in order of power and accuracy. He was right: she did know her weapons.

"Where'd ya get all these?" he asked, approaching the table with his crossbow rested casually against his shoulder.

"Scavenged most of them from the army check points around the city. They weren't all easy to get to, but they sure did have a bunch of useful stuff lying around."

Since he'd taken shelter inside a tank after being overrun by walkers during his first excursion into the city, Rick had to agree with her there. She joined Daryl by the table and surveyed the collection with an odd sort of pride. She'd joined a rifle club and taken up target shooting a few years earlier, and from the moment she had first pulled the trigger, she realised she had never felt so content as when she had a gun in her hands. Whether that was a good or bad thing, you'll have to judge for yourself, but the main thing was that she had finally found the perfect retreat. However, it didn't take a genius to see why someone with a past (and, at the time, present) like Hannah's would want to take up a hobby that involved deadly weapons.

As he continued to inspect the random assortment, Daryl absentmindedly began to rub his side, where a large bruise was forming. He and Glenn had been jumped in an alleyway while their group was retrieving a bag of guns Rick had left behind on his previously mentioned first expedition. While Glenn had been kidnapped, Daryl had endured a rather savage beating at the hands of a group who had apparently called dibs on the duffle bag. Though he was sure he hadn't broken anything, most of his body still ached like a bitch.

"You hurt?" Hannah asked him without taking her eyes off the table.

"I'll live," he replied. It wasn't often that anyone actually showed any form of sympathy for him, but that had changed when he and Merle had joined the other survivors. Although Merle wasn't popular with any of them, the group had developed a protective bond over time, watching each other's backs and keeping up the morale – not unlike a group of soldiers during a war. Daryl was still getting used to that sort of humanity. The way he and his brother had been raised (if 'raised' is what you'd call it), everyone looked out for themselves and you did what you had to do to get by. That was it.

"Why don't you come back with us?" Rick asked as he joined them. He was dressed in a complete deputy's uniform, the hat included, and whether this was out of habit or familiarity or something else, Hannah didn't know, but the sight of it and the authority it represented to her made it near impossible to say no to him. She glanced at T-Dog and Glenn, who had just entered the room and appeared to agree with Rick on the matter, then at Daryl, who seemed neutral to the idea.

"I mean, I know you've got a pretty sweet setup here, but sleeping outdoors is supposed to be good for your health or something," Glenn said. "Plus it'll probably be nice to have someone to talk to that isn't yourself."

This prompted a smile from the young woman.

"What do you say?" Rick stared at her, waiting for a response. They'd been gone for a lot longer than they'd intended and the rest of the group was bound to be getting worried. They had to go, with or without her; he had to get back to his wife and son.

Hannah considered her options: remain in a place that had proven safe since the outbreak had first begun, but also remain alone, hoping for the unlikely event of more survivors finding their way to her; or go with this group, with whom she was guaranteed face time with actual people and where the burden of supply-gathering, keeping watch and protection was evenly distributed among members. It was a case of safety or sanity. She chose sanity.

"I'm bringing the M82, though. I went through a lot to get that gun. I'm not about to leave it behind."

"You sure you're alright carryin' that thing by yourself?" T-Dog wheezed as they jogged along the railway tracks that would lead them back to base camp.

"I'm fine," Hannah managed in-between breaths, adjusting her grip on the large rifle that she insisted on bringing along. At around thirty pounds it wasn't exactly the lightest weapon to lug around when you were on the run from flesh-eating freaks.

Rick had managed to fit most of her weapons collection into the bag of guns he had retrieved from the city, but Glenn had gotten stuck with a separate bag for the ammunition. Since he was towards the back of the group, he was able to notice the glances Hannah continued to throw over her shoulder. Although he thought she was simply checking for geeks (as he affectionately liked to call the flesh-eaters), she was in fact looking back at the home she could no longer see. There was a lot of history in that house, things that she would never be able to forget, no matter how much she wanted to, and other things – triumphs of sorts – that she would look back on proudly. But none of it mattered anymore. The moment she had agreed to leave with them, she had also agreed to leave it all behind her, even the things that had become a part of her; some like laugh lines and others like disfiguring scars.

"We got three walkers, straight ahead," Rick whispered to them, taking out his sidearm without the intention of using it unless it was completely necessary. Daryl, with the quietest of the weapons, stepped up take the first shot. He had never failed to bring them down in one go, and this time was no different. The only downside to the crossbow, though, was that it took a little extra time to reload. While Daryl pulled the string back into place, the remaining two walkers began to move toward them with uncanny speed. Those with guns hesitated for fear of attracting more, but Hannah took out her own pistol and aimed at the closest one.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Glenn hissed frantically at her, realizing she had every intention of firing.

But the shot made hardly a sound. When both walkers were down, she showed Glenn the silencer she placed on it, amazed that he thought she would be so stupid. Though a lot louder than the ones in the movies, it was still effective enough to keep from attracting any more of the walkers. She looked over at Daryl, who was only just sliding a new arrow into his bow, and realised how, without a second thought, she had stepped up to provide backup for someone else. She was already beginning to feel like a real member of the group. They began moving again – Daryl first stopping to yank the arrow from the eye-socket of the walker he had taken down – keeping to the track and a little closer together than they had been a moment earlier without even realizing it.

Through intervals of walking and jogging (zombies or no zombies, not all of them were exactly at their fittest) they soon made it to the gravel road that would take them up to the quarry and back into the campsite. It was as they drew nearer that they began to hear the echoes of gunshots. And the screams.


	2. Chapter 2: Patricide

**Trigger Warning: **Physical abuse.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Patricide<strong>

The muscles were still twitching in her leg after a particularly hard, spur-of-the-moment workout when Hannah's father showed up at her house for a surprise visit. She was just settling down on the couch with a hot cup of green tea and latest novel she had bought online – (online shopping: God's gift to the socially awkward recluses of the world) – when she heard the familiar roar of his beloved 1970 Ford Mustang as it turned down her street. It was a sound that always managed to send a jolt of adrenalin through her body; a sound she associated with uncertainty and fear.

When she heard the car door slam, she sunk lower in the chair, looking to her tabby cat, Tony, for reassurance. He gave her a patronizing look before jumping down from the armchair and slinking away to find a creature less pitiful to keep him company. When the knock at her front door echoed through the house, she bit back her panic, tried to steady her breathing and got up to greet her father. Perhaps this time would be different, she thought, maybe he would have finally gotten tired of his games and this would be a simple, civilised family catch-up. But when she opened the door and caught the sinister glint in his eye, she knew that nothing had changed.

"Hi, Dad," she muttered, moving aside as he pushed his way into the house. The sharp scent of his aftershave swept into her nostrils, making her eyes water a little, not at the strength of it – he always wore too much, and since no one ever complained he probably always would – but at the memories it stirred in that section of her mind where she filed things she didn't wanted to remember. It was one little sensory detail that always seemed to linger the longest after one of his 'visits', plastered in her mind as she relived the moments over and over in her head.

"Hi, kiddo. How've you been? Hey, you got any coffee? I just ran out."

"Yeah, I…I'll go make some." She shut the door and watched as he took a seat on the chair she had occupied moments earlier, picking up her novel and flicking through it with disinterest. She saw her bookmark fly out and flutter slowly to the ground, leaving her place in the novel unmarked. With despondent eyes she moved to the kitchen and got to work setting up the espresso machine. She poured some fresh beans into the grinder and turned it on, waiting as the cappuccino began to pour itself, failing to hear her father approach until he slammed his fist into her stomach. She bent over the kitchen bench, clutching her aching belly and only just managing to turn around, finding her father now seated at her small kitchen table, reading a magazine as if he hadn't just assaulted his only child.

That was the thing about Hannah's father: he was never drunk (in fact, he rarely drank at all), he wasn't verbally malicious and he had never abused her sexually – he was always stone-cold sober when he decided to beat her. His actions were cold, calculating and always unexpected, even though Hannah had been subjected to them for years. He would greet her with a warm smile and kind words, but the moment he saw that little bit of hope and trust forming in her eyes, he would knock it out of her, smiling all the while.

Hannah brought him his coffee with shaking hands, doing her best to not let the pain of his blow show through her expression. Just like a schoolyard bully, if she allowed him to see that what he did had affected her, the next time would be much worse.

"Are you gonna have a cup with me?" he asked, smiling up at her and gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, Dad."

She sat down with him a moment later, coffee in hand, her cup of green tea sitting forgotten in the living room. It was so silent that the ticking of the kitchen clock seemed entirely too loud, and Hannah was almost certain she could hear the electricity buzzing through the light bulb above them. The kitchen had always been poorly-lit; it had no windows and the two doors that opened onto it weren't positioned near any other sources of light. She had always thought of it as the most depressing room in the house.

"So, how's work?" her father asked, looking at her over the rim of his mug.

"Alright, I suppose. It's school holidays at the moment. Good to have some time off…"

She trailed off as her father finished his drink and got to his feet, moving towards the sink. He paused beside her and raised his hand, enjoying watching her flinch, and then continued past her with a crooked smile. Hannah sat with a blank expression, her thoughts drifting into dangerous territory as the usual anger began to rise in her.

Everyone has that part of themselves that they hate: the personality quirk that always seems to turn off potential new relationships; the acne-scars that no amount of make-up can ever cover; the off-color jokes that always seem to pop out at the worst moments; the cellulite-ridden landscape that is their body; the awkward little laugh they give after every sentence when talking to someone they like. For Hannah, it was her inability to ever act on her true feelings. Her entire life she had learned to bury her emotions and keep up a normal facade in everyday life. It was how she got by, and it was also the reason that nobody knew about the things her father did to her, not even the people she had gotten closest to throughout her life.

Contrary to what many people might think, Hannah had little difficulty developing relationships with men – well, no difficulties related to her father, anyway. She still found it hard to look people in the eye and speak loud enough to be heard by someone who was more than a few feet away, but these were simply part of her poor social skills: it had nothing to do with her father. But there were moments sometimes where she would flinch involuntarily if someone around her made a sudden movement, and when she wasn't having the best day it was this sort of thing that left her feeling edgy and weak.

As she heard her father rummaging through her fridge, she realised his visit was far from over. If it was anything like the last one, he wouldn't leave until she was bleeding from at least two orifices and unable to stomach a decent meal for a couple of days. She quietly sipped her coffee, giving no indication at all to the dark thoughts stewing in her brain.

"You got any mustard, Han? I could really go a sandwich." He looked over at her and saw the look of blissful nothingness on her face. That just didn't sit right with him.

When she saw how fast he was approaching her, Hannah pushed back her chair to get up. She wasn't fast enough. His thumb found the hollow spot on the front of her shoulder and dug in until she could no longer hold back her scream. Tears of pain blurred her vision and she clawed the air blindly, doing her best to fight him off. She managed to strike him in the face, startling him out of his current attack. She had never fought back before; he had never thought she had it in her.

In an attempt to regain control of the situation, he grabbed her by her hair and pulled her head back, driving his free hand into her stomach with sickening force and knocking the wind out of her. She collapsed to her knees, her head jerking back as her father refused to let her go; pain ripped through her scalp as each strand of hair strained at the roots. Momentarily blinded by the pain and the blur of tears, Hannah realised what she had to do. In every situation where the choices came down to fight or flight, she had always gone with the latter and look where that had led her – nothing had changed. Same fear, same pain, same father. Now, she twisted in her father's grip and punched him in the groin as hard as she could. The moment he released her she struggled to her feet and moved in calm, even strides towards her bedroom with a look of extreme purpose.

She reached under her bed and pulled out the first and only rifle she had ever owned, and marched back to the kitchen. Although she wouldn't realise it until a few days later, once the initial shock had worn off and she could think clearly about what she had done, she felt no fear as she marched up to her father and lined up her shot.

The surprise in his eyes did very little to subdue her, in fact it spurred her on. She actually enjoyed seeing the tables turned – that for once he was the one in fear for his life.

She had never thought herself capable of killing him, even in the moments when he was helping her discover new thresholds of pain; but the moment she had taken up target shooting she had known that somewhere in the back of her mind a seed had been planted, one that was now about to burst into full bloom.

Despite it being a clean shot, the spray of blood and brain matter seemed to reach every object in the kitchen, and even a few feet into the hallway. She had never really considered a gunshot being capable of such an unbelievable amount of mess, but then again she had only ever shot at clay discs and wooden targets. Now, with the acrid smoke still hanging in the air in front of her and her only living parent (well, not anymore) laying on the ground with a hole where his heart had been, Hannah realised what she had done. And she began to laugh.

When she had been lining up the shot, she realised that maybe the heart wasn't the best place to aim; after all, she wasn't sure her father had one. Remembering this she began to laugh even harder, doubling over until the sound became shrill and hysterical. It was Tony who brought her out of her fit of madness, as he trotted into the room on his little cat legs and began to lap at the pool of blood that was slowly expanding across her kitchen floor.

Hannah stood, gun in hand, sinking in the silence that now surrounded her. She realised what she had done, but all she could focus on was the impossibly loud ticking of that damn clock.

* * *

><p>Digging a grave was a lot harder than they made it seem in the movies; but then again, the people doing the digging were usually fit young men well-versed in the art of covering their tracks. Up until this point, Hannah had never so much as gotten a speeding ticket, let alone hidden a corpse. So as she thrust the tip of the shovel into rock-hard soil of her backyard, making no progress on the hole and only a hollow sort of clanking sound, Hannah began to wonder if maybe she had finally cracked. What would people think if they found out? She could just imagine what her neighbors would say: 'She was always such a lovely girl. I'd never have thought she would be capable of something like this!'<p>

Isn't that what the neighbors of killers always said?

A few hours later, when the hole was finally as big and deep as it was going to get (not very much of either, in fact – as graves went, it wasn't even good enough to be classified as 'half-assed') Hannah went to collect her father's body. By now the puddle of blood had congealed into a sort of red paste, like paint that had been left out on the palette for too long and, appearing to have had his fill, Tony sat on the kitchen table with a look of content of his face. Despite having just lapped up his body weight in human blood, he still managed to give Hannah a condescending look as she took hold of her father's feet and began trying to drag him outside.

Her father wasn't a very large man, in fact he had been quite vain about staying in shape and looking his best, so it wasn't too hard to move him. The blood acted as a sort of lubricant, allowing his body to slide most of the way to the backdoor without much trouble. At one point his left sleeve managed to snag on the bottom of the door frame, but she doubted it mattered much where he was going. When she finally kicked him into the makeshift grave, Hannah looked down at the face of the man who had been party to her creation. Then she spat on him and began to cover him with dirt.

In the same way that loud, fast music seems to take the edge off exercise, complete inability to form coherent thoughts made the clean-up time fly by. By the time she was wringing the last of the blood from her bleach-soaked mop, Hannah realised she couldn't remember having ever cleaned up at all. She took a long, hot shower, making sure to scrub every inch of her body clean of murder, and then made a fresh cup of green tea, found the place she was up to in her book and sat back down on her favourite chair with Tony beside her for company.

It was as if her father had never even been there.

She had made sure to add a few slices of ginger to her tea this time, since she'd heard it was good for staving off colds and flu – the UPS guy who had delivered her book that morning had looked as he was running one hell of a fever. Must have been some virus going around.


	3. Chapter 3: Live Game

**Chapter 3: ****Live Game**

The scene on their arrival was absolute chaos. The once-peaceful campsite was now overrun with the living dead, survivors darting around in all directions; some with weapons, firing blindly at the monsters and others simply cowering in the background doing their best to protect their loved ones.

Rick and his band of wanderers burst onto the scene firing at whichever walkers were closest, sure to make their shots count even with their newly acquired armory. Hannah quickly laid the M82 on the ground and whipped out her sidearm, searching for anyone in need of help. She spotted a small family cornered by a snarling zombie, the screams of the small child only aggravating it more. Acting fast, she pushed it to the ground and pressed her gun to its forehead, taking care to turn her face away as she pulled the trigger.

With only the campfire for light it was hard to make out much of anything, so she followed the screams. She heard a muffled, agonized cry from behind her, a sound that made her afraid to turn around. Four walkers had a man pinned to the ground and were sorting through his innards like someone who'd received the wrong bag of luggage, whilst he writhed in their grip.

With only the slightest hesitation she shot the man first, knowing that he deserved the bullet more than the walkers at that moment. The zombies were too busy chewing on his intestines to care that she was so close, even as she began to pick them off. They collapsed forward over the body; something that Hannah guessed would make the clean-up easier – if they ever got to clean up.

She checked her clip, found that she was running low, and looked around for Rick, keeping an eye out for the hat. She spotted it bobbing around in a small crowd of hysterical campers. Rick was standing protectively in front of a woman and child she could only assume were his family. They looked absolutely terrified.

Hannah was struck by a moment of surreal bewilderment; the living dead shuffled around her, some tearing into the flesh of their still-living victims, while others succumbed to the savage beatings delivered by survivors armed with whatever blunt instruments would do the job. Blood seemed to seep and spray from every direction, covering the forest floor as well as those too close to the action. Screams surrounded her, but she wasn't sure which were cries of terror and which came from those being torn apart.

A new burst of adrenalin got her moving again, heading straight for the bag of guns the sheriff's deputy still carried around his shoulders. She plucked one of the rifles from inside, checked that it was loaded – which it was (they had left her house well prepared in case of any trouble on the way back) – and disappeared back into the action.

It wasn't long before the horde began thin out and soon none of the flesh-eaters were left standing. From force of habit, Hannah did a sweep of the entire campsite for any stragglers they might have missed, before moving into the surrounding forest. Since she had set up the turret system at her house, she found it difficult to allow any of the walkers the guns had missed to get away, even if it meant leaving the reasonable safety of her house.

Although it seemed highly unlikely, she harbored a belief that if she and everyone else followed this kind of system eventually there would be no more walkers to deal with. Sure it would probably take decades, but it was better than thinking it would never end; that they would have to live in fear and suffering for generations to come.

She kept moving until the noises from the campsite became distant and all she could hear was the sound of her own breath, ragged and fast. She listened out for snapping twigs and shuffling footsteps, but nothing stirred in the darkness. So she waited.

* * *

><p>The following morning she emerged from the woods bloody and exhausted. She hadn't come across many walkers during the night, but she'd readily taken care of those that she had. Her arms were sore from bludgeoning them with the butt of her gun and she had more than a few cuts and bruises on her hands and arms.<p>

In all the commotion of the previous night, no one had noticed the newcomer in their midst, so when she walked back into the campsite looking for something to drink and maybe even a place to sit for a moment, she was met with more than a few looks of confusion. Rick's wife, Lori, who was busy trying to take her son's mind off the awful things he'd seen, looked up at her and then over at Rick for some sort of explanation or introduction.

"Hey! Hannah!" Glenn called from over by one of the cars. She shouldered her rifle, trying to ignore the strange looks, and headed over to him.

"Thought you might need this," he said, passing her a cup of water and a granola bar. The drink had that flat, horrible taste of boiled water but she was grateful for it nonetheless.  
>"We've gotta move the bodies," he went on as she ate, "Bury ours and burn the rest." He hung his head, his expression unreadable.<p>

A loud WHACK! startled them out of their thoughtful trances as Daryl drove a pickaxe through the eye socket of one of the walkers. He looked over at them as if wondering why the hell they weren't doing the same, and then stalked off to the next body.

Finishing her drink, Hannah surveyed the area and spotted a blond lady knelt over the body of a young woman. Noticing her gaze, Glenn simply said, "Her sister."

"Oh," she replied, aiming for pity but coming up short, "So we have to…"

"She won't let anyone near her. Rick already tried. Just… leave her for a while, I guess."

Hannah gave a slow nod and saw T-Dog trying to drag a particularly large corpse over to the fire. She began to make her way over to lend a hand, but was intercepted by Rick.

"Hey, Hannah. Come over here and I'll introduce you 'round." He spoke in the low tones of someone introducing their friend to relatives at a funeral. It probably wasn't the best time for a meet and greet, but the curious looks were starting to get to her.

"This is Hannah. We picked her up on the way back from the city. Stroke of luck, I guess. She's a damn good shooter."  
>He smiled over at her, sensing her nerves, and she plucked up enough courage to smile back, glancing around at the small group he'd managed to gather which was made up mainly of women and children since most of the men were busy dragging bodies from place to place. Having lost so many of their people in the onslaught, Rick realised that stumbling across someone so experienced with weapons was something that couldn't have come at a better time.<p>

"This is Lori, my wife. My son, Carl," he continued, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist and ruffling his boy's hair. "Dale, he owns the RV there."

A man in his late sixties wearing a khaki bucket hat gave a small smile and a nod of greeting. Rick turned his attention to the next man, who was a few decades younger than Dale, much taller and a lot broader in the chest and shoulders.

"Shane. He and I were partners on the force."

Shane gave the obligatory nod and looked down at the cap he held in his hands, twisting it around as his thoughts began to wander.

"And this is Carol and her daughter, Sophia."

As Hannah smiled over at the mother and daughter, she noticed something vaguely familiar about Carol, but couldn't quite put her finger on it – it was as if she'd met her before, or perhaps someone who looked like her.

"Now, I know you're the new kid, but if you need anything, just let one of us know, alright? You're part of this group, now. We treat everyone equally and I trust you'll do the same. I've stored your weapons in one of the tents temporarily, but you'll be in charge of them from here on out, alright?"

She nodded, somewhat amused by his tone which came across very 'good cop'. She wondered if that made Shane the bad cop, and flicked her eyes over in his direction. He had already lost interest in the proceedings and was heading towards T-Dog and the other men to help shift the bodies.

Daryl watched the introductions from afar, waiting to catch Hannah's eye before gesturing for her to come over. She seemed the type who could get things done and he had a job for her. She exchanged a few more polite words with the others before approaching him.

He held out the pickaxe.  
>"You know what to do? I gotta move them bodies over to the graves. Don't see no point in buryin' 'em, but I guess it ain't up to me."<p>

She gazed steadily at the gore-stained tool and accepted it with mild reluctance. It was just another one of those things that needed to be done.

"You need some gloves, I think there's a spare pair lyin' round here somewhere. Hey kid!" he shouted to Glenn, who spun around despite not having heard his actual name. "Where're them gloves I leant ya?"

"Ah, I'm wearing them," he replied, trying not to sound too sarcastic since he knew from experience that the man had a mean temper.

"Give 'em to the girl here."

"What?"

"I got a spare pair," said a voice from behind them. Hannah turned and found a rather tall, scruffy man resting on his shovel. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and tossed them to her.

"Thanks."

As he nodded 'no problem', his hand went up to his stomach hovering above a bloody patch of fabric as if he had only just remembered it was there and was doing his best to hide it without drawing attention. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

"You hurt?" Hannah asked him, attracting glances from Daryl – who recalled her asking him the same question when they'd first met – and T-Dog, who was standing nearby taking a break from tossing walkers onto the fire.

The man leant forward as if he were about to tell her a secret, still trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "Don't make a fuss. Please. I'll be alright."

Hannah took an unconscious step backwards. "Were you bitten?"

Her eyes were wide now as she searched his for an answer. She'd never had to deal with this kind of situation before, not since she'd lived alone; and the only infected living person she'd ever encountered hadn't bothered to tell her, and hadn't lived for too long, either. She weighed up her choices: let it go and risk the lives of others, as well as her own reputation in a group she was brand new to; or alert someone who could deal with the situation as calmly as possible, namely Rick.

But Daryl had caught the word 'bitten' and that was all it took to set him off.

"You were bit?" he asked loudly, drawing attention. The words had the same effect on everyone else as Hannah's had had on him. People were on their feet in seconds, surrounding the unfortunate man. They might as well have been carrying torches and pitchforks.

"Jim, is it true?" Shane asked, appearing even larger in comparison to Jim's gangly frame.

"I'm okay," he told them, though it didn't seem like them he was trying to convince. He looked around in despair, seeing the fear in their eyes – there was no winning against the mob mentality and he knew it.

T-Dog grabbed him from behind and held him still while Daryl pulled up the man's shirt, revealing a glistening bite mark. Hannah bit her lip and backed away. It wasn't the bite that scared her, but the way that everyone had suddenly turned on him as if he was no longer part of the group but an outcast not fit for them to be around.

* * *

><p>"I say we put a pickaxe through his head, and the dead girl's, and be done with it," Daryl said moments later, once the other survivors had gathered round. It was like some sort of bizarre town meeting; only instead of discussing the plans for this year's church fete, they were discussing whether or not to bludgeon a man before his inevitable demise.<p>

"Jim's not a monster, or some rabid dog. He's a sick man. If we start down this road, where will we draw the line?" argued Rick, looking to everyone for signs of agreement or at least understanding.

Hannah stood towards the back, glancing every so often at Jim while she listened in on the conversation. It didn't feel right, talking about someone's life like this, especially not when they didn't have a say in it. She used to get upset thinking about the way dogs must've felt at the pound in their last moments: one minute they were being led into a back room, tail wagging, and the next they were being pumped with drugs that would slowly shut down their body. Jim's lack of naivety negated that sort of response, so all he could do was sit and hope that his so-called friends weren't pro-euthanasia.

Lost in her thoughts, she eventually tuned back in, catching the phrases 'zero tolerance' and 'CDC'. She leant on the pickaxe Daryl had given her, catching his glance as he looked over his shoulder at her, then the pickaxe, and finally at Jim. She knew immediately what he was planning.

"You go lookin' for aspirin. Do whatever you need to do. Somebody needs to find the balls to take care of this problem!"

It was the second time Hannah had heard anger in his voice, but she knew enough to recognize an empty threat when she heard one. Still, as soon as he came towards her, reaching for the pickaxe, she stepped back.

"Give me the damn thing," he said through gritted teeth. His eyes flicked to her hand, which had instinctively moved to rest on her sidearm – he wondered if she would actually have the guts to draw it. With eyes narrowed, she shook her head; nervous, but willing to stand her ground. His mouth twitched as he tried to stare her down; but as intimidating as he was, Hannah hadn't gotten to this point just so she could go back to her days as a doormat. She wasn't going to allow herself to be pushed around anymore and, were it not for the fact he was currently in the ground rotting, Hannah's father could surely attest to that.

Rick watched the stand-off with interest. He could see that Daryl wasn't sure what to do: he wasn't about to knock her on her ass, but at the same time she was standing in the way of what he wanted. He backed off, looking grumpier than Walter Matthau after a bad day. He gave her a kind of 'This ain't over' look and walked away.

While Rick took Jim to what he described as 'somewhere safe', the others got back to work. The sun was blazing down by that time and, as Hannah raised the pickaxe, poised to strike the skull of yet another corpse, the smoke from the burning pile of walkers blew into her face. If you've ever smelt a burnt roast, the stench wasn't far from that, only much sweeter and far more nauseating. She gagged and turned away, pressing her nose onto her arm. She didn't so much mind working with the pickaxe since the physical exertion tended to take her mind off what she was actually doing, but as soon as any smell hit her she had to fight to keep down what little she had in her stomach.

"I can take over if you want," said Shane, mistaking her disgust over the smell as disgust over the job. She could tell that he was wondering why she had been given the job in the first place.

"No. I'm fine, it's just…"

Another breeze blew by, wafting even more smoke in their direction, this time making her eyes water.

He turned his head away in revulsion as the smell hit. Hannah covered her nose with her forearm, walking off a few paces just to keep her food down. When she finally had her gullet back under control, she turned to see if he now understood. He did.

"Might want to stand upwind," he suggested like a genius.

"Yeah, thanks," she replied, trying not to sound too insincere.

"Did you want me to take over?" he asked again.

It took every ounce of willpower to keep from rolling her eyes as she shook her head.

"I'm fine. Gives me something to do."

Shane gave her a nod (which she found rather patronizing, since it felt as though he were giving her permission) and then moved off to find Rick and discuss their options. In Shane's case 'discuss' fell somewhere between 'argue' and 'exchange surly looks'.

Hannah found the last of the walkers lying outside the tents; one with a bullet hole in its skull, while the other appeared to have been made a meal of. Realising it had probably been one of the survivors she looked around, unsure what to do.

"I'll do it," Carol said, approaching her with slow uncertainty. "He was my husband."

She looked down at the body with a mixture of satisfaction and sadness. That sense of familiarity hit Hannah again as she passed her the pickaxe and took a couple of steps back to give her some room. She watched her drive the pickaxe into her dead husband's skull once, twice, three times and then a fourth, each blow accompanied by triumphant sob. Tears flowed freely down the woman's face and Hannah finally realised why she looked so familiar: Carol had on her face the exact same expression that Hannah had the day after she'd killed her father; after she'd woken up, looked in the mirror and realised she would never have to see him again. She knew the feeling and, even though she barely knew this woman, she felt a sort of camaraderie with her.

* * *

><p>Daryl was right about one thing, at least in Hannah's eyes: burying their dead seemed like a waste of time, even if there was no chance of them rising again. It took most of the day to get all the bodies pickaxed, put onto the back of Daryl's truck and then shipped over to the grave site where Rick and Shane were waiting to shovel dirt over them. By the time they were unloading, Hannah was nearing exhaustion. She hadn't slept the night before and was running on about six hours sleep over the past two days. Fear was a good stimulant in these circumstances, and since fresh coffee wasn't exactly in abundant supply, adrenalin was the perfect picker-upper.<p>

_I can sleep when I'm dead, _she thought to herself, immediately regretting the thought as Shane lifted the first body from the truck. She watched the head fall limply back and felt a touch of shame at the way she'd thought of them. Maybe it was because she had never known these people, or perhaps she had spent too much time in solitude and had simply lost some of her ability to sympathize.

Daryl passed on her right and cast a brief, irritated look in her direction. He took hold of the feet of one of the bodies and yanked it to the ground, treating it more like a hogtied deer carcass than something that had once been a walking, talking person.

The sound of shovels scraping the ground and dirt falling into the holes reminded Hannah once again of her father. She glanced around as she recalled all the details of that day, paranoid as if someone might be reading her mind and discovering all her little secrets. It was an unpleasant feeling, but one she always got when she was in the presence of others and thinking about things she knew she probably shouldn't be. Other times she'd drift off into a daydream and then wonder if she had actually spoken any of her thoughts out loud.

She was brought out of her moment of contemplation by Dale and the woman who had been kneeling over her sister's body. They were carrying a body that had been blanketed like the rest, long blond hair flowing out from beneath the sheet. They lowered the dead girl to the ground, beside the hole in which she would remain forever.

Once all the bodies were unloaded and had been placed within their graves, it reached a point where Hannah no longer knew what to do with herself. She felt like someone who'd come to the party of a friend of a friend, only to be abandoned and left to spend the rest of their time hovering around the snacks table, trying to avoid too much interaction with strangers. She soon decided to head back to the campsite and just wait for the others to return; give them a moment to mourn and say their goodbyes.

She took off her gloves as she reached the tents, swatting away the flies attracted by the mix of sweat, dirt and general gore that caked her clothes and some of her body. The pyre of walkers burned steadily (upwind– she made sure this time) and the only sound was the crackling of flame on flesh accompanied by the occasional crunch of pebbles and twigs beneath her feet. A cough sounded from the RV, startling her before she remembered the infected man from earlier. She wasn't alone after all.

The door to the Winnebago creaked on its hinges as she pulled it open and stepped inside. She guessed that running the air conditioner would've been a waste of fuel in these circumstances, but still it would have at least lent some comfort to the pale man inside who was sweating profusely from the rising fever.

He eyed her wearily, showing slight recognition but not enough to trust her.

"Thanks for the gloves," she said with a forced smile, placing them on the counter and stepping closer.

He finally dropped his gaze, remembering that she was just the new girl, not one of the people who had voted to kill him.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice raspy even after he attempted to clear his throat. He closed his eyes as though the effort of speaking was too much, but then looked up at her again as he waited for a response.

"Hannah."

"Can you get me a…something to drink?"

She nodded and looked around for any beverages lying around. She spotted some paper cups and a jug of water on the bench, likely filled with room-temperature boiled water; but it would do.

He accepted the water with a smile that was equally as forced as hers and took a sip, coughing most of it back up before the drink could even make it halfway down his throat. He shook his head in dejection and placed the cup on the window ledge.

"You wanna kill me, Hannah?" he asked without meeting her eye.

"Do you want to die?"

He was visibly surprised by her answer, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as if her words were some sort of trick.

"No one _wants_ to die."

"Believe me," she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear it, "In about an hour's time, you will."

As he considered this, another coughing fit overtook him, each one seeming to force its way painfully from deep inside his lungs. The infection was spreading fast and they both knew it; she could see the fear in his eyes.

"You knew someone who got bit?"

"This guy I offered a place to rest for the night. I popped by his room during the night to see if he needed anything. To talk or something. And he looked kinda like you do now, only worse."

"Did you kill him?"

She paused, searching for words that wouldn't alarm him.

"Yeah, I did. But not until he turned, and that was a mistake. After what I saw him go through, I wished I could have gone back and put him out of his misery earlier. No one deserves to go through that."

Not a very comforting speech, but it was the best she could do. He seemed to at least understand where she was coming from, and she could tell he had been weighing up his options anyway. He raised his eyes to meet hers and in that single moment she knew what he wanted. Her hand moved back to her sidearm as she prepared to remove it from its holster. Then Rick and Lori walked in.

They seemed confused by what they were seeing, but Hannah's hand fell back to her side before they could deduce anything incriminating. She gestured to the glass of water and said, "Let us know if you need anything else", before turning to give the husband and wife a doubtful look. Lori stared after her as she left the RV, unsure what to think.

* * *

><p>Lori caught up with the younger woman later on when Rick and Shane had gone off to do a routine sweep of the surrounding area. There had been a certain look in Hannah's eyes that she didn't like, back in the caravan – something worth investigating, should it turn out to be a serious problem for the group.<p>

Hannah was sitting quietly by the remains of last night's fire, cleaning her rifle; a task that had always helped to clear her mind and provided a sort of calming effect. The bag of guns that Rick had been carrying sat beside her feet. She laid the rifle across her lap and reached into the duffel, trading the half-used clip for the appropriate equipment. With the cleaning rod threaded in between her fingers, she looked down the barrel and spotted Lori approaching.

_She knows_, Hannah thought, trying to keep her expression unreadable.

Since she'd had years of practice at keeping her true feelings hidden, Lori didn't pick up on anything suspicious. She took a seat across from her and allowed a few moments for the tension to settle before speaking.

"How are you doing, if you don't mind me asking?"

While she waited for a response, she searched the girl's face for any sign of disorder. None was there.

"As well as can be expected given the circumstances."

They exchanged humorless smiles and Hannah pushed the rod into the barrel, hoping the conversation would end there.

"Rick says you're pretty handy with a firearm. It's, uh, unbelievably lucky they found you when they did, 'cause to be honest we need more people like that. Especially now."

"So I heard we might be moving on?"

Lori nodded but it seemed without proper conviction. Hannah had succeeded in distracting her from the scene she had walked in on.

"Rick thinks the CDC is our best chance at the moment. I gotta agree with him. We can't just sit here and wait for help that's never going to come." She looked over at her son, who was sitting with Carol and her daughter. "We can't risk that."

Hannah nodded, focusing her gaze on the rifle to keep from making any actual eye contact. After being cooped up in her house for weeks by herself, travelling around with a group of people was a refreshing thought, but she wasn't sure that being thought of as 'handy with a firearm', in a group where so little people seemed to even know how to shoot straight, was a responsibility she wanted dropped on her. Would she be blamed for failing to prevent a walker attack in the future? Surely experience with weapons didn't suddenly make you some sort of 'protector of all'. She just wasn't comfortable with that.

Catching the far-off look in Hannah's eyes, Lori realised she wasn't going to get much more out of her than a few detached nods. Rick and Shane emerged from the woods at that moment, calling everyone to gather round for yet another meeting. They sported equally grim expressions, their moods as infectious as, well… I guess I don't really have to explain that one, do I?

"I've been thinking about Rick's plan," Shane began, looking around at each person to make sure they understood the gravity of the decision to be made. "There are no guarantees either way, but I've known him long enough to trust his instincts and, well, the CDC seems like the way to go. But the most important thing at this point in time is that we all stick together. So those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning."

Hannah looked up at him and put down her rifle. She hadn't been there for more than a day and already they were moving on. She had actually been looking forward to a swim in the lake below, anything to wash off the layer of muck that seemed to have gradually built itself over her skin.

"Hannah, you said you ran into a couple of people who'd been travellin' through the area. Any of them ever mention anything about the CDC?" Rick asked.

If ever anyone had wanted to know the meaning of the phrase 'deer in the headlights', one look at Hannah's face would have told them all they needed to know. All the attention was suddenly on her and, though her face didn't show it, she momentarily lost her ability to think straight.

"Not that I recall," she managed, and although in her mind it sounded like the most brainless response, no one seemed to think anything of it.

As everyone began to drift away to begin packing up what they could of the camp, Shane nodded over to Daryl.

"You wanna maybe scout ahead to see if there's anything might cause us trouble tomorrow?"

Daryl gave a nod and picked up his crossbow, glancing at Hannah who was watching the exchange with interest. She turned her gaze back to her rifle, but kept her ears pricked. After what felt like a little too much time spent in the focus of the others, what she needed was a brief escape – anything that would get her out of the camp for a little while.

"Mind if I go with you?" she asked Daryl as he headed for the forest. He turned to face her, surprised that she would even ask. He had never had company on a hunt (which is how he viewed each trip into the woods since it gave him the opportunity to track whatever animals he could, as well as any walkers that might have passed through) and he didn't want any, either. His surly expression said it all.

He took a moment to size her up, determining how helpful she might actually be.

"You know anything about trackin'?"

"No."

"Ever been huntin'?"

"No."

He scoffed and turned away.

"I know how to shoot," she tried, as though this somehow made up for all the other things.

"Yeah, I know you do. But just 'cause you know how to turn on an oven, don't mean you can bake a cake."

She stared at him with a furrowed brow, not quite sure what to make of that particular statement, but before she could come up with anything he began moving into the woods again, brushing her off completely.

Refusing to let that keep her from going, she followed quickly to catch up, receiving a disdainful look when she reached his side.

"You got a real problem with authority, don't ya?"

Looking at her again, he caught the pleading light in her eyes and felt some of his anger drop away.

"Whose authority?" she asked, shooing some flies away from her face. She smiled in an attempt to lighten the situation, but failed to realise that Daryl Dixon was not the type to be influenced by that sort of gesture.

"Is this because I wouldn't let you put a pickaxe through Jim's head?"

"Wouldn't have made a difference. You think them folks are about to let me just do somethin' like that? No, 'cause that would actually mean putting aside all the bullshit and doin' what needs to be done, which they don't seem that into."

Hannah couldn't believe it. She actually felt glad to be in the presence of someone whose anger wasn't masked by lies and false smiles. It was almost refreshing.

"What?" he asked her.

She realised she had been staring.

"Nothing, it's just…I guess I agree."

"Glad someone's got some sense around here."

They walked on in silence for a while, stopping every now and then when Daryl picked up a trail that was completely invisible to Hannah. She had never seen someone so comfortable in their surroundings. Every broken twig seemed to mean something to him; every patch of disturbed ground, piece of missing bark and bent blade of grass. Every little rustle and bird call. It was like he was reading a map.

"Somethin' passed through here," he said, motioning to nothing in particular. "See that?"

Hannah nodded despite having no clue what he was actually referring to. He craned his neck, surveying the area for whatever had left the tracks. Hannah waited for further instructions, but her eyes fell on something a few feet away on the ground.

"I think I see something."

Daryl followed her gaze and nodded.

"Blood. Not human, I don't think."

A branch snapped somewhere in the distance.

"Come on."

They jogged towards the sound, eyes and ears peeled for any sudden sound or movement, but the source of the noise soon became clear.

In the middle of a clearing lay a deer that was slowly being eaten by a crouching walker. Every so often the deer would kick out, but the movement was weak, as was the sound it made in its enduring agony.

"Oh…" was all Hannah managed to get out, her hand flying up to her mouth.

The morning all of this had first begun, Hannah had followed the same routine as any other day. She didn't like to watch the news, morning or night, because she found it too depressing, and since all of her morning ritual was performed indoors, she took longer than most to discover the horrors that had overtaken the world in the course of an evening. Her cat, Tony, spent each night outside by his own volition, doing whatever it is cats do when they're on their own. At the same time every morning, he would sit at the front door and give one demanding meow to be let inside.

So on this particular day, it was not a 'meow' Hannah heard, but more of a blood-curdling 'yowl'; one of the most horrible noises she had ever heard an animal make. She had rushed to the front door, yanked it open and discovered two zombies – one, the postman, and the other one of her neighbors – tearing her cat to pieces. It was a scene that she had managed to push down to the very bottom of her unconscious mind, one that had taken her a long time to get over. And now she felt like she was reliving it all over again.

Without a word, Daryl raised his crossbow to line up a shot, taking the zombie out in one smooth, silent motion. He and Hannah approached the deer, Daryl first giving the zombie a good kick to make sure it was going to stay down for good. He pulled the string back on his weapon and looked up at Hannah, catching the disturbed expression on her face.

"Go get that bolt for me, will ya?" he asked her, waiting until she had turned away before killing the deer with a quick shot to the head.

The walk back to the campsite seemed rather uneventful after that. Hannah had lost all ability to think properly as the image of the deer continued to replay in her head; she didn't even notice the concerned looks Daryl kept throwing her. He had tried all matter of distractions – quite a feat for him, since he rarely spoke to anyone by choice - from explaining a few tracking techniques, to asking her a few basic things about herself; but the moment he had asked her why her father had never taken her hunting, she seemed to shut down completely.

"It was just a deer," he tried to reason, shouldering his crossbow. "If the walker hadn't gotten it, I probably woulda and we'd all be eaten venison tonight."

"At least you'd have killed it humanely. It's not we'd be eating it while it's still kicking."

The image flashed through her mind again and she blanched.

On their arrival back at the campsite they were approached by Shane and Rick, who were surprised to see that Daryl had had company on his trip. They'd gotten used to the idea of him being a lone wolf, the kind of man who preferred hunting on his own.

"How'd it look? Anything we need to worry about?" Shane asked, joining them. Daryl looked at him in a not-so-friendly way and then shook his head.

"Not so far as we saw."

He glanced back at Hannah, who still had the same distressed look on her face. But as much as he wanted to say something that might actually mean something to her, he couldn't think of a damn thing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I just want to thank everyone who reviewed and favorited the story so far – every show of interest is hugely appreciated, after all: we write for fun, but post for feedback. I know this chapter was rather long, and it contained a little bit from episode 1x05, but I hope you enjoyed reading it nonetheless.**

**Music: **It seems I couldn't touch this chapter without first listening to **'Bulletproof Love (Christoff Berg Remix)' by Massive Attack**. The lyrics aren't exactly subtle, but I think it's a very Hannah song. Plus I just love the sound.


	4. Chapter 4: On the Road

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So it turns out I haven't updated this story for a whole year! There were times when I would open up this chapter, try to remember if I'd already posted it, but then work on it anyway. And here we are - almost 6000 words to make up for the 12 month delay. Thank-you to all the people who still read my other chapters, those who reviewed them and those who even favorited them, despite my lack of updates. Since season 3 is well underway, I figured I'd pick this story up where I'd left off.**

**Thanks again for reading.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 4:<span> On the Road**

One of the reasons Hannah slept as little as she did, (besides the overwhelming fear of being eaten alive), was that she hated waking up and having to remember all over again that the world had gone to crap; that the monsters were real.

On this particular morning, the process was made easier since she had spent the night in a tent and not in her own bedroom surrounded by familiar things. She found a set of clothes waiting for her outside: a gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans that were a little snug, but the feeling of fresh, clean fabric against her skin was a welcome one. Managing to evade notice, she ventured down to lakeshore to wash what parts of her body were exposed enough to scrub. She had half a mind to strip and jump right into the cool water, but the thought of being caught by one of the other survivors, particularly one of the men, made the whole idea much less appealing.

Squatting down, she cupped the water in her hands and splashed it onto her face, running her fingers back through her hair, which had spilled loose from the bun she had left her home with. She pulled it back into a ponytail and was just about to begin washing her arms and neck, when the pebbles crunched behind her. Instinctively she whipped out her sidearm and spun around.

"Whoa! Sorry, didn't mean to startle ya," Shane said, throwing his hands up in defense.

She lowered the gun with a sigh of relief, using her forearm to wipe the excess water from her face. Her eyes wandered up and down the tall figure as he took in the lake and its surroundings for what would be the last time.

"We're heading out in about a half hour. Thought you'd like to know. Besides, you shouldn't wander off on your own – never know when you might run into trouble."

His expression was serious as he spoke and Hannah could tell he had grown used to being in a position of authority; giving orders and looking out for others. Yet there was something distinctly different between him and Rick – they exuded very different kinds of influence. Rick's was gentler, logical; Shane's was almost forceful.

"If you hurry, you might still be able to get something to eat before we head off."

He picked up a smooth, flat rock and skipped it across the water, turning to give her one last look before heading back up towards the camp. Hannah watched the rock, counting six skips. Waiting until Shane was a good distance away, she picked up one similar to the one he'd thrown and chucked it. All it did was make an empty PLONK! before sinking to the lakebed below.

* * *

><p>"Yo, Greenpeace! You left your big-ass gun in the middle of the road. I nearly hit with my truck."<p>

Daryl gestured to the M82 that Hannah had completely forgotten about. She'd gone to so much trouble retrieving it; she couldn't believe she could be so careless. Before she could run over to reclaim it, Daryl picked it up, testing the weight of it in his hands.

"How the hell didja manage the whole way back with this thing?" he asked.

"Adrenalin?" she ventured, watching as he placed the gun in the back of his truck, beside his brother's motorcycle. He turned back to see if she had a problem with that. She didn't.

"So you're riding alone?" she asked, taking out the clip of ammunition and checking its chamber for any rounds – wouldn't want it to accidentally go off if Daryl hit a bump in the road.

"What are you, my sidekick or something?"

"I was only asking," she said softly. "I'll go see if I can ride with Glenn and the others."

Daryl sniffed as if he couldn't care less and watched her walk away, confused by the feeling that he'd done something wrong.

Hannah gathered up her cache of guns and approached the RV to request a spot on board. Dale was a little more hospitable than the crossbow-wielding southerner had been and as she placed her bag down on the table he approached her with a solemn look.

"Those clothes belonged to Amy, Andrea's sister," he told her, looking out the window towards the blonde woman who was staring off towards the gravesite, her face expressionless. "A couple of the women were talking about offering you some of their clothes since it didn't look like you brought much with you besides the weapons, and she stepped up, brought out some of Amy's things. Just thought you should know."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Dale nodded. "I wouldn't worry about saying anything to her, though. I don't think she was looking for gratitude."

In fact, Andrea had been quite forward about it, arguing with Lori and Carol that Amy wasn't going to need them anymore, so the new girl might as well have all of it. Her behavior, though understandable, had still worried the women and scared the two children as they looked on.

Knowing where the clothes had come from, Hannah wasn't proud of the slight aversion she now felt to them. But it was a different world now: making use of a dead person's things looked to be the new way of life.

They had one final meeting before they left for the CDC, with Shane explaining the procedure in case of a car breakdown, as well as the radio frequency they would be using should anyone find themselves in need of help. Hannah, in her usual style, stood outside of the proceedings, glancing from one person to the next as they spoke. She was quick to avert her gaze after making eye contact with Daryl, doing her best to keep from looking as awkward as she felt.

The moment passed quickly though, as one of the families elected to leave the group, inciting mixed reactions from the others. While those who had gotten to know them best said their farewells, Rick approached Hannah for a weapon to give to them, since they had no protection of their own. Daryl watched with disapproval as she went back into the RV to retrieve one. She presented the small handgun and a box of ammo to the father, accepting his thanks with a modest nod.

They were soon on the road, with Shane leading the convoy and Daryl bringing up the rear in his truck. Hannah sat at the table in the RV, quietly going through her small arsenal as she watched Jim being nursed by another survivor; a woman named Jacqui. His condition had deteriorated fast overnight and she could tell he didn't have much longer. She wondered if he was still coherent enough to ask for a quick end. As it turned out, it wasn't long before she had an answer.

The RV broke down a few hours into the journey and while Dale, Shane and Rick discussed their next move, Jacqui announced Jim had reached the point of no return.

"If you can hold down the fort here, I'm gonna go scout ahead and see what I can find for the van," Shane said to Rick before heading back to his car.

"I'll go with you," T-Dog offered, following him.

Rick approached the RV, hesitating at the doorway. He took off his hat and, with the sigh of a man about to make a tough decision, entered. He emerged a while later, (by which time Shane and T-Dog had returned with a few items to repair the RV), with a strange expression and looked around before his gaze settled on Hannah. Replacing his hat, he gestured for her to come over; attracting the attention of a few concerned others who took the signal as all inclusive. There was a small gathering by the time Rick told Hannah that Jim had requested she shoot him. At first they were all speechless, Hannah most of all, but slowly they all looked at her, waiting for a response.

"Is he lucid?" Carol asked.

"He seems to be," Rick replied, his voice rough with emotion. "I would say yes."

Even without looking, Hannah could tell most eyes were on her; but it was Lori's gaze she felt the most – after all, it was Lori who had been suspicious of what had gone on between Jim and Hannah while everyone else had been at the gravesite.

"He says you were right, though he didn't say what about, exactly," Rick continued, this time directly to Hannah.

Knowing it was now or never, Hannah decided to explain herself before rumors and further suspicions could start forming.

"Back at the quarry, when all of you were saying your farewells to the people you lost, I went to Jim and we talked. I told him about a man I knew who had been infected, like him, and what happened when I waited for him to turn before I…before I shot him. I think Jim understood pretty well what he was in for. And now –"

"Wait," Shane said, putting a hand up to halt her explanation, "You convinced him he should kill himself?"

"No. No, I just-"

She caught the accusatory glint in Shane's eye and felt it spark something aggressive inside her.

"Don't forget the discussion you all had back at the campsite. You were talking about killing him," she said, her eyes flicking to Daryl, who managed to look at least slightly ashamed as he recalled his suggestion involving the pickaxe, "And you didn't even bother to include Jim in the conversation. He has the right to choose his own fate. The world being the way it is now doesn't mean we get to decide for him."

"That's all well and good," Shane said, not at all moved by her words, "but what it all comes down to now is whether or not you're willing to take another person's life while they're still coherent enough to know that it's comin'. You really want that on your conscience?"

"What it sounds like to me," Dale stepped in, "is that Jim has made his final decision, with or without the influence of someone else. And Hannah's right – the man has a right to choose. We can't do that for him."

He directed this mostly at Shane, but cast brief glances at Hannah, who began to feel slightly more reassured that she wouldn't be viewed as a monster should she decide to go ahead with it.

"That doesn't change the fact that he wants you to do something you can't ever take back."

Hannah nodded, taking all this in. She glanced around, trying to gage the general attitudes of those around her. Both Shane and Rick were staring at her intently; Shane with an air of condemnation, and Rick with one of pity. He respected Jim's final wish, but he wasn't sure if Hannah was up to carrying that around with her for the rest of her life. What they didn't know was that she was used to the carrying that particular burden around – Jim wouldn't be the first living man she'd shot, after all.

"Killing a man ain't like offin' a walker," Shane went on, as if she didn't already know, "You're gonna have to look Jim in the eye when you pull that trigger."

"That's enough!" Lori looked at Shane with disgust, wondering just how far he'd go with his words to convince the poor girl not to do it. "It's not up to you. It's not up to any of us. This is between Jim and Hannah. Let's just leave it at that."

Of all the people that could have stood up for her, Hannah was amazed that Lori would – and it was then that she realised Lori hadn't just been suspicious after she'd seen Hannah's hand resting on the butt of her gun as she talked to Jim: she'd known exactly what was going on, but she'd kept it to herself that whole time. Hannah gave her a grateful look and Lori knew that it wasn't just for shutting Shane down.

Rick stared at her, waiting for an answer so that he could figure out what to do next. She glanced around the group once more before lowering her gaze to the ground and saying:

"I'll do it."

* * *

><p>Rick and Shane helped Jim out of the RV and over to roadside, while Hannah prepared her weapon. She recalled a time she'd visited her grandfather's farm when she was just a toddler and her mother had still been around to protect her from her father. It was one of those memories you tried to bury as best as you could so you wouldn't have to relive the awfulness over and over, but still one that managed to resurface every now and then. It had come back to her the day after she'd buried her father, and now here it was again.<p>

Her grandfather was the type of man who believed you should only eat what you'd grown and raised yourself; whether it be vegetables, grains or animals. One of the animals he'd raised himself, one that had been born on the farm, was a prize heifer he'd called Lucy. Hannah recalled its large, brown eyes and long eyelashes – the gentle way it stared at her as it grazed in its paddock. On her last visit to the farm, before her mother had become sick, her grandfather took her to visit Lucy. They found her towards the back of the paddock, torn open by a mountain lion that had been spotted in the area. As the animal lowed pitifully at her visitors, Hannah's grandfather had taken the revolver he'd been keeping on him in case of a run-in with the big cat, and pressed it to the temple of his favourite animal, blowing out its brains right in front of the young girl. He'd looked up at her at that moment and said, "She's not suffering anymore, Han."

Slamming the door on that memory as she'd done a number of times throughout her life, Hannah could still feel everyone's eyes trained on her as she loaded the handgun; their judgment and doubts weighing down on her. It definitely wasn't the best way to start off in a new group, killing one of the members, but she reminded herself that it was the right thing to do. It was a win-win of sorts: Jim would no longer be suffering, and there would be one less walker for someone to have to worry about.

After settling Jim back against a tree, Rick approached her once more, while Shane walked right by, making his disapproval very clear.

"We're gonna give the others a chance to say their goodbye's before it happens. Are you sure you want to do this? He made it clear he wants you to be the one to do it, if anyone was going to, but I'm sure he'll understand if you can't."

"He shouldn't be left to turn into one of those things," Hannah said, after a long pause.

She stood away from them all as they farewelled their friend, distancing herself from all the emotion. It had been a long time since she'd cried. Perhaps she'd seen too much already, and couldn't find any emotion that could better express how she felt about the things she had witnessed. Or perhaps she'd seen so much that she just didn't care anymore.

When everyone had finally made their way back to the cars, she took a deep breath and walked towards Jim, passing Daryl on the way. He gave her a very slight nod; though whether it was of comfort or approval, she couldn't tell – he wasn't an easy man to read.

Jim raised his eyes to meet hers as she crouched down beside him, her gun hanging limply in her hand.

"The wind feels nice out here," he told her, looking around at the trees and the sky. She felt a sadness creeping up on her as she watched him enjoy his last moments alive.

"You ready?" she asked quietly.

He nodded and she was surprised to see him smile.

"I'll finally get to be with my family again."

Hannah thought about this, then raised her gun and pressed it to his forehead. He closed his eyes and waited.

Crows burst out from a tree as the gunshot cut through the silence.

The sobs of the women grew louder as they turned their heads away from the windows. It was over. One more friend lost to the walkers.

Hannah's legs felt heavy as she walked back to the RV, her eyes staring blankly at the road. She stopped when she noticed a small blood spatter on the front of her shirt. She rubbed at it, but that only made it worse. She tried to find a way to cover it before she made it back to the RV, but was only reminded of the similar way Jim had tried to hide the blood on his shirt as he tried to cover up the fact he'd been bitten. She squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them once more, she looked over at Rick in his car. He gave a nod similar to Daryl's. She could see that his eyes were red from crying.

She stepped past Jacqui inside the RV, who she sat by the door crying, and made her way to the seat by the window, gun still in hand. Dale and Glenn watched her go and then exchanged looks.

Andrea stared in Hannah's direction, but it was the gun that she was focused on. Jim was lucky: he'd found a way out. She wondered if there was a way to get her hands on one of Hannah's firearms without anyone noticing.

* * *

><p>By the time they arrived at the CDC, it was getting close to dark. The surrounding area was littered with bodies – mostly walkers – and their convoy was forced to stop without a way around the long-abandoned army vehicles and blockades.<p>

With the comforting weight of her rifle in her hands, Hannah followed Rick's lead through the maze of dead, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of movement. She didn't know what was worse: the smell or the unbelievable amount of flies swarming around the area. Then she felt a familiar lurch in her stomach and decided on the smell. Following the example of most of the others, she clamped her fingers firmly over her nose.

Metal shutters covered the windows and the doors of the complex, making it impossible for them to get inside. But then, Hannah supposed, that was the idea. Running off what little optimism he had managed to cling to since waking up to find the world overrun with the living dead, Rick ran around rattling each one, seeking a possibly entry point. There were none. And as if that weren't enough:

"Walkers!" Daryl called, reminding them that a lack of access wasn't the only problem right now. He quickly took one down before giving Rick an accusatory look.

"This is your fault."

"I made a call," Rick replied, still trying to find a weak spot on the structure.

"Well, it was the wrong damn call!"

Daryl launched himself at the sheriff's deputy, but was intercepted by Shane, who threw him back towards the others.

The kids began to cry (and they weren't the only ones), then everything seemed to escalate quickly from there. The threat of violence seemed to impose from every direction, with more walkers approaching. If they didn't make a move soon, they would be surrounded. But with no food and no fuel, it wouldn't be long before they found themselves in the same situation again anyway.

While Rick continued to argue with the others about their options, Hannah moved towards the walkers that were approaching them, using the butt of her rifle to take the closest one out.

"Hannah!" Rick shouted, trying to draw her back to the group before he became overwhelmed by everyone's bickering again. Daryl, Glenn and Andrea turned to watch her as she kept most of the walkers back, but when she drew her silenced pistol, it was knocked out of her hand by a walker that had somehow managed to sneak up behind her. Glenn took a step forward, ready to come to her aid, but Daryl was faster, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and using the butt of his own rifle to smash the zombie's head in in the same way Hannah had.

He looked at her as if to ask what the hell she thought he was doing, and she jogged over to the first zombie he'd taken down, pulling he bolt from its head. She offered it to him and he took it, looking entirely ungrateful.

"You gonna get yourself killed over a damn bolt?"

"I was trying to buy you guys some time. We're about to be surrounded. I thought– "

"Well, maybe you should think a little harder next time," he said, as they both moved back towards the group. She remembered her pistol, but just as she turned to go back and retrieve it, Daryl pushed her forward, urging her back towards the others.

Rick appeared to be on the brink of a nervous breakdown as Shane attempted to drag him away from the building and everyone else made for the cars, giving the whole thing up for a loss. Then Rick spotted something that renewed his hope.

Wrestling from Shane's grip, he ran back to the building, pointing above one of the shutters.

"The camera! It moved!"

"You imagined it," Dale said, but Rick still wasn't ready to give up.

"Someone's in there."

He began to rattle to shutters again, this time more violently.

"Let us in! If you leave us out here, you're killing us!"

Hannah looked around and found that this wasn't far from the truth. As she'd told Daryl earlier, they were about to be surrounded. There was no time to think about the noise – she began firing at the walkers closest to them, with those who were armed following her lead. The light had almost completely gone from the sky by the time one of the shutter doors rose up and cast an even brighter light across their miserable faces.

* * *

><p>Dr. Edwin Jenner, he said his name was – the man who had held their fate in the palm of his hand. The man who had decided they might be worth saving. He was the last scientist left in the complex, and they could tell just from looking at him that he'd probably been on his own for too long. Hannah wondered if that's how she'd looked to Rick when he'd first stumbled across her. Despite his initial hesitance to allow them inside, he seemed grateful for the unexpected company, but not grateful enough to be reckless. The price of admittance, he had told them, was a blood test. Needless to say, they didn't refuse; how could they? They had nowhere else to go – certainly nowhere as secure and isolated as this particular building.<p>

Hannah was not so inclined to feel this way. The florescent lighting, white walls and floors, and overly-sterile feel to the place reminded her of a hospital, and since her mother's death there was no place she hated more. Except maybe for elevators, which just happened to be the next step of their journey into the complex. Leaning back against the rear of the small space, she succeeded in hiding her discomfort, finding herself once more in the presence of Daryl. She fixed her gaze straight ahead in order to avoid any possible eye-contact, but she could still see him from the corner of her eye. He was giving her a strange look, almost as if he could sense her anxiety. As the elevator continued its descent, she felt a headache coming on.

"Did you cut yourself?"

Dr. Jenner slipped a needle beneath her skin, as he had to the other members of the group before her, and she watched as the vial began to fill with her own blood. It was strange to see it outside of her body like that – not that she hadn't witnessed dozens of others' blood spill, spray and explode from their bodies as she took out their walking corpses with a semi-automatic – but her own blood was a different matter. It was more…personal. She stared at the fast-filling vial, mesmerized, before she realized he was referring to the bloodstain on her shirt.

"Not mine," she explained.

"You don't seem bothered by needles."

She'd heard this kind of small talk before, when the school nurses had given her students their inoculations. She guessed it was to take the kids' minds off what was being done to them, to make them think of something other than the pain, but she had never found this method particularly useful.

"I used to donate blood. These days I kind of go out of my way not to, I guess."

She felt a familiar, dull pain as he removed the needle.

"Okay, all done. Name?" he asked, a marker poised to label her vial.

"Hannah."

He wrote it across the sticker and placed the vial up with others.

"Who's next?"

* * *

><p>That night, they ate their first decent meal in a long time. As the adults took advantage of the available wine, the noise in the mess room gradually rose. Hannah kept mostly to herself, taking half-hearted sips of her own wine, trying to get in on the vibe, but feeling more tired than anything. She quietly excused herself from the table and went in search of the closest bathroom. Locking herself inside, she collapsed in front of the toilet, bringing up what little food she'd managed to ingest. After she threw-up for the second time, bringing up only foul tasting bile, she heard a soft tap at the door.<p>

Wiping her mouth on the back of her arm, she got up to open the door. Dale took one look at her pallid face and frowned.

"Is everything alright? You barely touched any of the food. And from what I heard, you hadn't been living on much when they found you."

"I had supplies," she replied, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "I'm just not feeling great."

She caught a brief flicker of something in his eyes and realized he thought she was sick over what she'd done to Jim.

"I'll be fine. I just need to lie down."

"You sure you don't want something to eat? Drink? You look like you could use some water."

"I'm just going to go find a couch or bed to collapse on. Thanks. Maybe just tell the others I was tired, and that's why I left?"

She didn't want them thinking she was infected – wouldn't want another 'town meeting' like they had for Jim. Dale stared at her a moment.

"What you did today…there's no reason to, to feel ashamed of what you did. From the moment you joined this group, you've done nothing but protect us. That was just your first instinct. Now, I don't know about the others – a few of them, I trust, will have a hard time understanding how you could have done what you did – but to me you seem like the kind of person we need to have around. So as long as you decide to stick with us, remember that."

Hannah didn't know what to say. She hadn't really felt wanted since the death of her mother, and the few relationships she had been involved in had ended quickly and been mostly physical – just the way she had wanted them to be; even before the walkers showed up, she hadn't wanted to form attachments with anyone.

"Thanks. I, uh, I'm gonna go find somewhere to rest. Jenner said there were showers, too, didn't he? "

Dale nodded and watched her go, waiting to take advantage of the empty restroom.

Before she found somewhere to take a well-needed nap, she grabbed some fresh clothes and headed for the shower. If you've ever been on a camping trip without the luxury of a working toilet or a hot shower, you may have some idea how Hannah felt the moment she stepped under that steaming jet of water. She watched the color of the liquid change from clear to a murky brown as all the dirt and blood washed off her body. As she let her mind drift, she found herself thinking of Daryl. Her eyes flickered open. Then she smiled to herself and thought of him some more.

* * *

><p>Refreshed and finally feeling clean, Hannah found that most of the fatigue had left her body. She could hear voices coming from some of the rooms around her and wondered just how long she had been in the shower. Making the most of her time in the new building, she decided to look around. The first room she found was the rec room, where Lori, Carol and the kids were finding ways to occupy themselves. Both women greeted her with friendly smiles, but she wasn't sure if it was the newfound feeling of safety that made them so cheerful, or if they were genuinely trying to be nice to her.<p>

While the kids took out a few board games to play, Hannah scanned the bookshelf, not looking for anything in particular, but thrilled to have books to choose from in the first place. As she plucked one off the shelf, she heard her stomach growl – despite everything, she was still hungry. Putting the book away, she left for the mess room, hoping to find some leftover food. Instead, she found Daryl seated at the table, which had been cleared by now, with her bag on guns in front of him. A half-empty bottle of wine sat on the table to his left, and every so often he would put down the crossbow bolt he was cleaning, and take a swig of it.

"Guns and alcohol? Good mix," Hannah joked as she walked in.

Daryl glanced up briefly, but said nothing as she took a seat across from him. She took a couple of guns out of the bag and got to work cleaning them, a pastime she found oddly relaxing. They cleaned in silence, Daryl pausing once to offer her the bottle of wine, which she gladly accepted.

Now and then, Hannah would think of something to say, feel the words forming in her mouth, and then quickly stop herself. She wanted to ask about the injuries he'd been sporting when he and the others had first found her, and about his brother, about his life before all this, anything to start a conversation with him; but it was kind of nice just sitting in silence. He took another gulp of the wine and lifted a rifle from the duffel bag, unloading it and checking the chamber. He realized Hannah was staring at him and he gave her a questioning look.

"My gun," she told him, nodding to the first rifle she'd ever owned – the same one she'd used to kill her father. Understanding, he passed it to her and took a couple of handguns from the bag instead.

"How'd you learn to shoot so well, anyways? You don't exactly look like you'd know one end of the gun from the other. No offense."

She smiled.

"I took it up as a hobby. Found out I just happened to have a hidden talent for it, I guess. Kinda glad I did it, considering everything that's happened. What about you? Your brother teach you to use the crossbow?"

He nodded.

"He preferred his rifle, though. Gave me the bow."

"And the tracking?"

"Man's gotta eat."

"Deer?"

"Yeah, if you're lucky. Or squirrel."

"I never tried squirrel."

He looked over at her, realizing that this was probably the longest conversation he'd had with any of his fellow survivors that wasn't a heated argument.

"Well, the food in this place ain't gonna last forever. You might have to, one day. Maybe you'll even be killin' and skinnin' your own dinner."

Hannah thought about that and frowned. Knowing where meat came from was bad enough; having to kill the animal herself? She wasn't sure she could do that. But if she'd learnt anything, it was never say never. She'd done a lot of things in the past few months that she would never have thought possible. After taking down so many walkers, you'd think killing a couple of squirrels would be easy.

"Only if you teach me," she finally replied.

"Ain't anyone else 'round here who could. Who do you think's been catching their dinner for 'em? Scavengin' ain't always gonna work."

She could tell from the way he was speaking, his words sounding lazy and sometimes slurred together, that the alcohol was beginning to take effect. He drained the last of the wine and reloaded the pistols he had just finished cleaning, placing them back in the bag.

Hannah watched as he pushed himself to his feet and headed into the kitchen, returning with a fresh bottle of wine. He took his knife from its sheath and ripped the cork out, taking a few mouthfuls while he headed for the door.

"You should get some sleep," he told her as he walked past, "Might be the only chance you get." She thought that sounded like pretty good advice, even if it was coming from a half-drunk man.

Once the weapons were clean and reloaded, Hannah packed them all back into the duffel bag, pausing when she saw Daryl's crossbow leaning against the table. Knowing how she'd feel if she'd accidentally left her rifle lying around, she decided to return it to him, though by know he was probably passed out somewhere. Feeling a little light-headed herself from the combination of booze and an empty stomach, she didn't even think about how weird it might look for her to be walking around in the middle of the night wielding a crossbow. Luckily for her, it looked as though everyone else had found a place to crash for the night – it was probably the first time any of them had gotten any real sleep for a while.

After checking each room along the hall and finding everyone except the man she was looking for, she came to the very last door and turned the handle, careful not to make a sound. She had been right – Daryl lay on his bed, out cold, his shirt thrown on the floor with what might have been the idea of getting in the shower before the alcohol and exhaustion had overwhelmed him. Too tipsy to feel any guilt, she gazed at him a moment, her eyes drifting over his toned arms and bruised midriff. Stepping towards him, she leant the crossbow against the wall by the bed. At that moment, there was nothing she would have liked more than to lie on the bed with him and sleep. It had been a while since she'd felt the comforting presence of another person in her bed, and despite Daryl's tendency to immediately shut down anyone's attempts to get closer to him, Hannah was beginning to think that maybe he didn't mind her hanging around him so much.

A noise from out in the corridor brought her out of her thoughts. Leaving Daryl's room, closing the door as softly as she could, she went to investigate. Shane stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips and head bowed in thought. Hearing Hannah's footsteps, he turned to look at her, revealing bloody scratch marks across his cheek. He and Hannah stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do, then Hannah turned and left. On her way to find a place to sleep, she tried to understand what she had just seen. But even in her increasingly-drunken stupor, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.


	5. Chapter 5: For What It's Worth

**Chapter 5: For What It's Worth**

Hannah was the first to wake the following morning, cursing her damn internal alarm clock that no longer woke her gently at six a.m. as it had when she was a schoolteacher, but instead shook her rudely awake with the thought 'Wake up before you get eaten!'  
>Since she had also been one of the last ones to go to sleep, and had done so with a nice buzz from the wine she and Daryl had consumed, she made a beeline for the mess room for some water and maybe even some aspirin if she was lucky.<p>

After what seemed to become a lost cause, she eventually stumbled across a near-empty bottle of aspirin lying on the desk of one of the presumably dead scientists. She took one of the tablets and gulped down a glass of water with it, deciding to leave the bottle with a jug of water and some cups for the others when they woke up. She stared at the bottle for a moment before shaking one of the tablets into her hand and pouring out another cup of water for someone she knew would definitely need it.

"Oh, great, where'd you find those?" Glenn asked as he shuffled into the room, shielding his eyes from the bright fluorescent lighting.

"Lyin' around. There aren't many there, but I figured…"

"Yeah," he smiled, "I think we were all pretty gone last night. Good thinking."

He held her gaze for a minute before looking away awkwardly. Remembering she had a delivery to make, Hannah turned away.

She knocked on Daryl's door but got no answer, so quietly opened it. He was lying in the same spot as the night before, but this time was awake, shielding his eyes the same way Glenn had as she turned on the light.

"What the hell do you want?"

She showed him the cup and tablet before placing them on the table beside him.

"You my nurse, now?"

"No, your sidekick, remember."

She waited for a smile, but he continued to glare in an entirely ungrateful manner.

"And you're welcome, by the way."

"Whatever."

"Hey," T-Dog greeted her back in the mess room, tipping his cup towards her like a toast. Lori made a similar gesture while swallowing a mouthful of water. Glenn was busy handing out pills to those who looked like they needed them the most, while Jacqui and Carol worked together to put together a modest breakfast for everyone, though it didn't look like many would be able to stomach it.

"You should have asked me," Jenner said, referring to her search for the aspirin. "I know there are a few more bottles lying around here somewhere."

"I didn't know where to find you. Besides, it was either that or, you know, hair of the dog."

Rick, who sat at the table looking particularly green around the gills, slowly shook his head, not liking the sound of that at all. He'd be glad to never see another bottle of wine again.

Hannah was helping clear the table after breakfast when the lights flickered, then switched themselves off. Everyone looked around, the fear they were hoping to forget now returning to them. Jenner was on his feet immediately, stalking out of the room and down the hall. Those who were in the mess room got up to follow him, while those still in their rooms poked their heads out.

"What does that mean?" Hannah asked the hurried scientist, her eyes wide. He didn't bother to answer.

"What the hell's goin' on? Why'd all the lights turn off?" Daryl leaned out of his room, a bottle of whiskey hanging from one hand while he gripped the door frame with the other. Jenner grabbed the bottle of whiskey on his way past and took a swig of it.

"The energy is being prioritized," he explained, without breaking pace.

"Prioritized?" Dale said, joining the group, "Can't you stop it?"

"It's not up to me."

Hannah frowned. "You mean the building's shutting itself down?"

Jenner finally paused at the end of the hallway, turning to face the questioning expressions of the other survivors. He knew they weren't going to like the answer either way.

"Basically, yes."

"Wait, what does that mean?" Daryl asked, pushing passed Hannah, who was too deep in thought to care. "Hey, what does that mean?"

Scrambling to catch back up to the scientist, Hannah muttered, "I knew something like this would happen one day. You rely too much on technology and…"

"It's not the technology that's the problem. I mean, we still rely on fossil fuels for power. How stupid is that?"

Jenner turned back to look at her.

"How much control does the computer have over the facility?" she asked him. When he failed to reply, she pressed him, "Can you override it or not?"

"The computers were designed to keep themselves going above all else. They turn off all non-essential power-usage to maintain their own supply. But even then that supply won't last forever." He gestured to a big digital clock, the seconds slowly counting down.

31:28

Hannah looked back at Rick, who was now the closest to them. He'd heard it all, but still didn't quite understand.

"Jenner," Hannah began, searching for a way to ask her next question that wouldn't panic the others, "What happens when the time runs out?"

Jenner glanced at her, then back at those behind her. As if to answer her question, an alarm began to sound, startling the already-frightened survivors into a panic.

A disembodied female voice spoke up above them: "Thirty-minutes until decontamination."

"We're getting out of here," Rick said, "Lori, go grab our stuff. Carl, help your mother. We're leaving." He cast a dark look at Jenner, but he ignored it, staring up at the screen with a look of defeat. He swiped a card across a control panel to put an end to the sirens, but that didn't help to calm anyone.

"De-decontamination?" Hannah looked terrified. There were probably dozens of deadly viruses being stored in the facility, which meant whatever protocols had been written into the emergency system, their main focus would be to contain those viruses, no matter what. Which also meant destroying them if the situation called for it. Realizing this, Hannah glanced back at Daryl, who still didn't quite know what was going on; but as soon as he saw her expression he knew whatever it was, it wasn't good. As everyone took off towards their rooms, the doors began to seal themselves, leaving them no choice but to stay put. And a bunch of overwhelmed people trapped in a small space was a good way to guarantee mutiny.

Hannah stared at the sealed exits. "Oh my god."

"Did he just lock us in? He just locked us in!" she heard Glenn scream.

"Isn't this the way you'd rather go? Rather than out there, where you'd be forced to die a cruel, agonizing death?"

"A cruel death?" Hannah cried at him, surprising herself, "As opposed to what? Being forced to sit here and _wait_ until we're dead? What the hell gives you the right to choose that for us?"

Overcome with tears, she turned away, fighting to stay on her feet as overwhelming helplessness flooded through her.

Over by the doors, Daryl picked up and axe, tossing another to Shane before they both began trying to cut their way out.

"Those doors are built to withstand rocket launchers," Jenner told them, "There's no point…"

Daryl turned and came at him with the weapon, stopped just in time by Rick, Shane and T-Dog, who pushed him back towards the doors. Now in the unfamiliar position of not being able to do anything of use, Daryl began to pace back and forth like a caged wildcat.

"She is right," Rick growled at the man who had locked them in, gesturing to Hannah, "You have no right to make this decision for us. To take away our hope."

"Hope? There is no hope! There never was. What I'm doing right now is offering you a nicer way out than the one you'd be faced with out there. This is the most humane way-"

"Humane? Locking us inside like animals?"

There was a click towards the back of the room, and then Shane appeared brandishing a shotgun. As much as they tried to push him back, as they had with Daryl, his rage drove him right through them. He thrust the gun into Jenner's face.

"Let us out! Now!"

"Shane, this is not how we do things," Rick shouted, trying to tug his friend away. Shane shrugged him off and asked the man again.

"Let us out, or I'll shoot you!"

"Shane, stop! We can't do anything without him."

Shane turned to Hannah then, who froze as the gun swung in her direction. "She can! You said she built something back at her house. Do something! Get us out!"

"I don't know how," she pleaded. Rick stepped in front of her and shoved his old partner away.

"Think about what you're doing!"

Shane gave a cry of frustration and began firing at every computer within range, hoping at least one of them might be the one controlling the doors. Spurred by the terrified sounds of the women and children, Rick launched himself at the crazed man, wrestling the gun out of his grip. When he finally managed to wrench the gun away from him, Rick knocked him to the ground.

"Are you done?"

Shane just stared up at him, more ashamed of his own actions than anything.

"I said, are you done?"

Rick turned to see how Hannah was, but she'd slumped to the ground in shock. She'd fought so long to keep herself alive, even before the walkers had shown up, and now she was being forced to sit and wait for her own death. She looked up at the clock, tears blurring her vision as panic began to overwhelm her. In less than fifteen minutes, she'd be dead.

She let the tears flow freely then, knowing she was better off fighting to the end, even if it meant hammering away on the metal doors to no avail; but she couldn't even bring herself to stand up. Everything had escalated so quickly – she just didn't know what to do. She remembered hearing more shouting, and crying from all around her. Just as she was beginning to hope she would black out before the decontamination began, she felt a hand on her shoulder and someone pulled her to her feet.

"Come on. We're gettin' out of here," she heard Daryl say. Then suddenly they were looking outside, the only thing keeping them from their vehicles, a wall of thick glass windows.

Her heart was thumping so loud it seemed to drown out all other noise, her breath quick and laboured. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as they searched for a way out.

"The glass," Glenn shouted.

"There's gotta be a way," T-dog replied. He picked up a chair and tossed it at the window, hoping to shatter it, but the glass was just too thick. Hannah stared as the men threw all their energy into breaking window, battering it with axes and the butts of their guns. Shane stepped up with his shotgun and took aim, but the blast did absolutely nothing.

"Here," Carol said, rushing towards Rick, "The first day you arrived, I found this in your clothes when I was cleaning them."

She held out a grenade.

Rick took it from her and glanced around. They really didn't have much of a choice.

"Alright, everybody get down!" he shouted, running over to the window. He knelt down in front of it and paused before pulling the pin. Realizing what he'd done, he jumped to his feet and sprinted away to take cover, but the blast still managed to knock him off his feet.

Seeing the glass shatter and the resulting rush of fresh air across her face was one of the best things Hannah had ever felt. Daryl helped her to her feet and they stumbled out into the light, following the others towards the cars. They weren't out of harm's way yet, but god it felt good to be out of that building.

Without even thinking, Hannah got into Daryl's truck, the man himself giving no protest. She was still staring at the building when he started the engine.

"What the hell are they doing?" she said, as Dale and Andrea stepped out of through the window.

"She wanted to stay," Daryl said simply.

"Jesus Christ."

Hannah caught a glimpse of the fire engulfing the entire complex before Daryl yanked her down, though the truck provided little cover for them anyway. They felt the blast as it shook the ground around them but, just as Jenner had said, it was over within less than a minute.

"You okay?" Daryl asked.

And despite everything, she nodded.

Hannah slept for the first few hours of the journey towards Fort Benning, the only place left for them to go; their last hope. Every now and then Daryl would glance over at her, as if forgetting for a moment that he wasn't alone in the car. He almost hoped that she would sleep the rest of the way – he wasn't exactly the greatest conversationalist.

When she finally did wake up, it took her a second to realize where she was, who she was traveling with.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked, her voice still groggy.

"Not long," Daryl replied, his hopes dashed.

She groaned and ran her hands over her face before searching for a much needed drink. Daryl reached into the back, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, and produced a questionable looking canteen. She gratefully accepted it, taking a long sip.

"Tell me I dreamt all that. It didn't actually happen," she said, dabbing her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Wish I could."

She offered the canteen to him but he shook his head.

"I had some already. Anyway, don't know when we'll find water next."

Taking the hint, she screwed the cap back on and put it away. They sat in silence for a while before Hannah began to grow uncomfortable.

"Come across many walkers?" she asked.

"Some."

He wasn't making it easy that was for sure.

"How much fuel do you think we've got left?"

He glanced at the gauge.

"Probably not enough to get us where we're goin'."

"Doesn't look like there are any gas stations around." She leaned forward for a better look, but Daryl could see what she was doing.

"Next time we stop, you can see if there's room in the RV."

"Why would I do that?"

"You're better off with them. You can talk all you want, ask stupid questions, braid each others hair for all I care."

"I thought I was your sidekick."

"You ain't my goddamn sidekick. That joke weren't funny the first time, it sure as hell ain't funny now. Last thing I need is some girl trailing around me trying to make fucking conversation."

"I'm sorry, am I ruining your 'lone wolf' thing?"

"Shoulda left you in that house. You coulda been someone else's problem."

She stared at him, unable to even comprehend where he'd suddenly pulled that from. He watched her turn away, resting her head in her hand as she gazed out her window. He wanted to apologize then, but that just wasn't his style. Then from the corner of his eye he saw her wipe at her cheeks and he changed his mind.

"I didn't mean it," he told her, looking annoyed that he had to say anything at all.

"It's not that. I already knew you could be a dick." She gave a half-hearted chuckle. "It's like, I don't know, emotional leftovers or something. I can't believe that he was gonna just lock us in like that. I mean, if a person like him can do something like that, what hell else is out there waiting for us. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should have stayed in my house."

"You've done right by us so far."

"I was lucky with you guys. Anyone could have stumbled into my yard that night. It was just by chance that it happened to be decent people. Ya'll have done right by me, I can only return the favour."

An acrid smell began to fill the cabin as a trail of smoke erupted from the hood. The truck gave a lurch, then a sputter and began to slow.

Behind them, Lori slowed the car to a crawl and pulled up alongside them.

"That doesn't look good", she frowned, looking over at Rick, who was already getting out of the car. He looked around for walkers, then up at the others ahead. The RV slowly rolled to a stop.

"God damn pile of junk", Daryl cursed, kicking the side of the truck as he slammed the door closed. He lifted the hood and hopped back as a cloud of fumes blew out. When the smoke had cleared he saw Hannah leaning back against the passenger side door, her expression grim.

"Looks like I might have to find room on the RV after all."

He didn't look much in the mood for her brand of humour.

"What's the problem?" Rick asked, as he passed by Hannah.

"My brother doesn't know how to look after this goddamn truck, that's the problem", Daryl replied. He pulled the dipstick out of its compartment, took one look at the bone-dry, oil-free tip and tossed it onto the road in defeat.

Rick looked back at Hannah, who appeared utterly unimpressed by her companion's latest outburst, and tried not to smile. Feeling his gaze, she looked up and returned the expression.

Daryl moved to the back of the truck and began pulling down the ramp. "You wanna come get your gun?"

As Rick gave Hannah a hand pulling the M82 off the back of the dirt encrusted vehicle, Shane and T-Dog soon appeared at Daryl's side to help unchain and lift the big, black chopper onto the road.

"Any idea where you're going to keep this?" Rick asked, as he heaved the gun in the general direction Hannah was walking. She stopped in the doorway of the RV and poked her head in, catching the gaze of Andrea.

"Uh, much room back here?"

Dale leaned out from the driver's seat and frowned at the massive weapon.

"Is that really necessary? I mean, we have plenty of firearms as it is."

From the cramped booth of the dining table, Andrea craned her neck for a glimpse of the offending weapon, then at Hannah.

Hannah and Rick exchanged a look. It was a mean looking weapon, powerful as they come, but when she thought about it, no matter how difficult it may have been for her to originally acquire, it was simply impractical at this point.

"We'll find you something lighter," Rick promised, placing it by the side of the road. "Who knows, maybe it'll be more useful for someone else?"

She threw him a doubtful look and stared regretfully down at her once favourite gun. During one of her more uneventful stints in her house, alone but for the occasional visiting horde of walkers, she decided to see how many she could take down in a day, then try and top that the next day. The wall of her bedroom was covered in knife markings, as well as a short, crookedly-carved sentence here and there. _Better luck next time. Not today. Try harder. On target._

She wondered what people would make of it if they were to stumble into the abandoned place. A tally of the people who tried to take the house from her but failed? Of murders she had committed? No, there wouldn't have been many strokes if that were the case, though she could have added to it now. Her mind turned to Jim, his last moments smiling up at her as she pointed a gun at his head. The familiar spray of blood and bone as she pulled the trigger and in an instance forced another soul from its body.

She had been standing in her own thoughts, too quiet too long as her mind wandered. Rick looked concerned.

"I'd offer you a ride, but we're full-up", he said.

"That's fine. Hopefully they'll let me in the RV,"

"Whaddya mean?"

She looked back at Shane, who now stood in the doorway, waiting for them to wrap it up so everyone could get on their way. His eyes had a coldness to them as they fell on her; distrust.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you made the right call back there, with Jim. Not many people would have been able to go through with it. The others might not be comfortable with it yet, but give it time. I'm sure there are gonna be plenty more difficult decisions where that came from."

Her expression was grim.

"Sorry. Probably not the most optimistic outlook."

"I'd take realism over optimism, right now," she replied. "You think Fort Worth is really gonna be worth the shot?"

"Let's just say, unlike you, I have to rely on a steady stream of optimism for this one."

He gave her a grim smile and trekked back towards his family.


End file.
